The Moving Out Blog

Since the whole ‘New Year, New Me’ thing is a tiny bit clichéd, this year I’ve opted to go with ‘New Year, New Home.’ Yup. Me and the boyf have finally moved into a place of our own. Although the process of moving out (and buying everything) has been over a week or so, Saturday was our first official night in our new pad.

I’m going to be honest. Moving home has been hard – not practically, between delivery firms, our cars and family members; the logistics of moving went pretty swimmingly. We got all the large furniture delivered from store, so it was only really clothes, make up, spoons and shizz that needed to be moved by us. It’s been hard in the other way. In a nice little coincidence the move happened whilst I had all the PMT. Like most 20-somethings, when I first went on the pill the NHS bunged me on Microgynon and it worked well for me; since last year though microgynon has gone out of circulation. As such, the synthetic hormones in my new pill mean that come that time of the month, I am prone to have a secret little weep (probably over an advert.)

Waking up in my room at home, my parent’s house and thinking ‘if everything goes to plan, this is the last time I’ll ever wake up here’ was enough to set me off. Lots of lasts, lots of debates over whether I really should take them shoes that I’ve worn once in the last billion years was concluded with an awkward hug as I (and my car packed to the rafters) set off to the flat. The entire day was sprinkled with mini-crying fits. Although I was excited to start the next chapter of our life together I was also a bit sad to be closing the door on a chapter that had spanned almost 24 years.

The first night was strange; we kept giving each other little looks. Occasionally noting how weird this was. It may only be a one-bed apartment but when you normally only have a bedroom, it feels bloody massive. While yesterday was full of lasts, today has been full of firsts. For the first time ever, I’ve cleaned out an oven – I know; constant glamour over here. I’ve also got my first ever proper tea, cooking away in the background as I type this. Normally whenever we’ve been home alone the boyfriend has had to deal with my ‘whatever can go in an oven’ style of cooking, tonight though we will be feasting on a casserole and roast potatoes. All going well obz, if not food poisoning here we come. The flat, which for so long was an abstract idea, is starting to feel like home.